


i'm headed straight for the floor

by zacefronspants



Series: and i lock every single door [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Introspection, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:05:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27410140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zacefronspants/pseuds/zacefronspants
Summary: the aftermath of when stiles gets his shit rocked by gerard
Relationships: Allison Argent/Scott McCall/Stiles Stilinski
Series: and i lock every single door [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1285748
Comments: 2
Kudos: 45





	i'm headed straight for the floor

**Author's Note:**

> i didn't die, i was asleep

Stiles manages to sneak long before his dad is expected to be home, long before the parties has started and long before they have ended. He tries not to wince when starts peeling his lacrosse uniform off his body, willfully ignoring the purpling splotches on his ribs and angry split on his bottom lip. Stiles tries desperately not to think about how Gerard stuck him over and over and over again with his cane, how he stomped down on Stiles’ throat and called him a wannabe little wolf boy. Stiles furiously wipes his eyes because he refused to cry over some old man who can barely remember what time of day it is. He tries not to think about the blackened foot prints littering his body because he can _feel_ them every time he goes to bend over to pick up the stupid fucking bandages he keeps dropping because his fingers won’t stop shaking so bad. Stiles, for what feels like hours, watches the angry trembling in his fingers as he tries and fails miserably to wrap what he thinks (hopes actually, he can’t afford for it to be broken) is a sprained ankle.

Stiles fights the urge to start poking and prodding at every single bruise, cut, scrape and welt he can see and feel, fights the overwhelming urge to call his dad and beg for him to come home early so he can curl around him and just sob because every part of _burns_ when he moves too fast or doesn’t move at all. Stiles winces when he pours rubbing alcohol on his knuckles while he absently (there is nothing absent about the way his throat starts closing) about how he tried desperately to save Boyd and Erica from Gerard’s goons, how hard he fought and begged for them to just take him instead. Stiles winces when he remembers how harsh it felt when Gerard whispered, “No one would notice if I did take you boy. You’re nothing.”

He looks at his knuckles, stares at the splitting skin and purpling blues that cover them and wonders if he left any marks that ache the way the ones he has do. Stiles doesn’t know when he made it back into his bedroom, or how he even made it in one piece because the burning in his lower body is almost unbearable.

Stiles will swear on everything that he owns, everything he knows, that he doesn’t flinch when he hears his dad say, “Who did this to you?” He swears he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even move (he does, he yelps so loud he’s almost positive Scott could hear him). Stiles tries and fails not to stutter out a half assed excuse that doesn’t sound bland and made up in his own ears. His dad just watches as Stiles opens and closes his mouth only for the excuse he settles on is, “The losing team did it, didn’t like that a scrawny kid like me beat them,” and it makes him cringe because it sounds so hollow and dead in his ears, so he can only imagine what it must sound like to his dad. It feels like hours pass by before his da comes over and grabs him and just _holds him_ and squeezes so tightly that his ribs pop (either back into place or they just needed to be popped, he doesn’t know). They stay like for a while, Stiles quietly crying into his dad’s shoulder and his dad promising to get the kids that did this. Stiles has to constantly reassure him that he doesn’t want to press charges, it just went it a little too far.

And then, in one sobering moment, his dad asks, so quietly, “Did-Did they touch you?” Stiles feels his stomach drop and the thick taste of embarrassment settles on his tongue. He stutters out a no because they _didn’t do anything,_ they just quite literally beat the fuck out of him.

When his dad finally takes his leave, after Lydia has come by to check on him and ask if he’s okay, after he’s shut his phone off because he can’t handle the on slot of questions of his win, how he did it, and where he fucking went. He needs a fucking break from everything right now. He can’t deal with anyone asking him how he is or if he’s okay because he’s not okay, he’s fucking suffering, but it’s fine because Allison and Scott are unscathed. Unbothered, uninjured at least, physically. He knows there are scars they both have now after Gerard and the death of Allison’s mom, there are things that soft touches and gentles kisses can’t fix, there are things that are ingrained into their own minds and hearts that there isn’t anything that can fix it, if it can ever be fixed.

Stiles tries and fails miserably to stop the tears that began to fall when his head hit his pillow, he bites his split lip open again and presses a fist to his mouth and wetly into his fist because now that the adrenaline has worn off and the excitement (read: fear) has dissipated, he’s left feeling hollowed out and craved open. Stiles knows that the soft knocking on his window is Scott and Allison, that they’re worried because he’s been MIA for almost twenty-four hours, but he’s so tired, he’s so achey and split open that he doesn’t know if he could handle them right now, but he aches for them so badly. He misses them so much (he just saw them earlier before the game).

After the knocking finally ceases and a gentle, “Baby, please,” is said loud enough for him to hear, he drags himself out of bed and crawls to the window, unlocking it and turning his back to it.

Stiles flinches violently when he feels Allison (he knows it’s her because he gets soft waft of fresh rain in his face) wrap her arms around him, he tries not to his when she starts touching him all over because he knows that when he just fucking left it was terrifying for her to have him just _fucking disappear_ moments after the big game was won and she was going to kiss him. He knows it scared them shitless.

Scott presses a soft kiss to his forehead and takes him away from Allison and gently wraps him in a hug, promising to start leeching his pain away from but it all sounds the same in his ear; bland. He’s not mad at Scott or even Allison, he’s just exhausted at this point so he softly asks, “Can we- Can we please go to bed? I’m so fucking tired,”

He doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he knows, for the first time, since Scott has been bitten, he didn’t have a single nightmare that night.

**Author's Note:**

> feel free to message me on tumblr @togxpi!


End file.
